It all started with a big bang
by Mismatchedeyes
Summary: A selection of a hundred short drabbles, ranging between 500 - 1000 words. They will go through various pairings, including crackships  if you want to see a particular ship done drop me a message etc . Rated M for ones to come.
1. Close your eyes, count to ten

**Author's Note; Okay so this is going to be a series of drabbles written about the various pairings within Fullmetal Alchemist, some might be proper ones, some may be crack ships that I've picked up around the internet. The point is they won't all be the same couple. The basics of this challenge I've set myself is to write one hundred drabbles based on what my itunes randomly gives me when I start the writing. Each story will start with a short snippet of the lyrics, you can google them if you want.**

**I own none of the characters that'll be featured in here, nor any of the basic ideas that pertain to the series itself.**

**This first one is Royia (Roy MustangxRiza Hawkeye) and set on the song Count to Ten by Millburn.**

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><p><em>They talk of pride before a fall<em>

_Not every battle is critical to win a war_

_Tomorrow I know I'll agree_

_But now the stronghold has taken control of me_

One. A deep breath, a well kept brow arching as she ignores the noise in the futile attempt to at least make a decent indent in the paperwork before lunch. Two. Her grip on the pen tightens as the volume of the noise heightens. Three. She's mentally cursing them now, not just them, all of them, mankind, men. Fuck them all. Four. She's dealt with worse; she tries to remember the ridiculous techniques they taught her in training. Count to ten, push the anger to the back of your mind, breath and squeeze. Oh if only she could shoot them, it would make her life easier. Where was she? Five? That sounded about right. Five. Her hazel gaze lifts momentarily to the door before dropping to the small spread of manila folders currently cluttering her, usually pristine, desk.

Usually she would be calm, collected and have the ability to ignore them. Usually. But three to six days of the month…well the urge to kill them was merely heightened – don't fool yourself, it never left she just possess more will power to stop herself the rest of the month. The noise stops for a moment, the door opens a crack. Her gaze snaps up and the door closes. What in hell are they doing? A brow twitches once more; her grip on the pen is threatening to break the poor utensil. She scrawls her signature at the bottom of the page, the nib of the pen threatening to tear through the paper. A deep breath.

She drops the pen, leaning back in the wooden seat somewhat. Her back aches but of course she shan't complain; she won't be seen as the weaker link for merely being a woman. She scoffs at the thought and her gaze grazes over the top of her desk. The noise resumes. Where had she been? Six? Six. A hand hovers over her lower stomach momentarily before she sits straight. They've been at it for hours, their muttering and giggling and hushed noises. The dog, which has been sat patiently beside his master's feet, looks up at the blonde. She doesn't return the look but she's aware of its movements, at least he wouldn't abandon her to do the majority, nay all the work. What has left her in such a foul mood, I hear you ask. Other than the manic cramps, that she is certain that the majority (if not all) of the men on the other side of the door could not have coped with, they had argued. Of course it wasn't an unusual scene to behold, the raven-haired man wittering on until the point where she simply could not withstand his mindless drivel anymore, to the point where she simply had to explode verbally or she would kill him. But the straw that broke the camel's back that day? When he had quite clearly spent three minutes staring at her bust. Now usually she would mentally castrate him for such an offense but today, of all days, the day of an inspection, a day when all she wanted to do was curl up and die….oh not today, you raven haired misogynistic, chauvinistic, little bastard. She had snapped. She can't remember what she said as a whole but the others had filtered out mid-argument and the man had skulked out once she had returned to her desk.

She sighs, perhaps she had been harsh….of course he had to know what was and what wasn't acceptable… picking up the pen once more she continued with her work. Signing off the last piece of paper for a particular folder she gathered up the various papers, sliding them delicately into one of the manila holders. A particularly loud thud; shortly followed by a round of hoarse laughter. Seven. She gently taps the folder on the desk, ordering the paper. A voice drifts from the room, more than likely Havoc's, he's putting on a female's voice…where they mocking her? Eight. She stands, a wave of cramp hits both her lower stomach and back. Nine. Turning she makes her way towards one of the many filing cabinets, tugging open the top draw she pauses momentarily. The room next door hasn't fallen silent, but there has been a level of change in the volume. Has the door open? She doesn't turn, if she has to be confronted by one of them…she'll kill them, it's as simple as in her head at the moment. The footfalls are unmistakable; they're not heading for her though. The desks? Her brows furrow, what is the insufferable man doing now? Turning, ready to voice her opinions she blinks, watching the man's back retreat back to the room. Huffing somewhat, feeling thoroughly deflated at missing the opportunity to make her opinions known, she closes the draw once more.

Making her way back to her desk she pauses, there's a teacup…does he think that a cup of tea will suffice for an apology? She's close to reaching her limit as a pang of pain reminds of her current bad mood. She settles herself in the seat once more, noticing the small slip of paper tucked under the saucer of the cup.

_One sugar, slice of lemon, no milk. _

_It's not an apology, more a peace offering._

_The painkillers on the saucer will help with your back; take the rest of the afternoon off._

_M._

She folds the note in her slender fingers. She'll forgive him tomorrow.


	2. Pretty girl is suffering

**Author's Note; Okay so this is going to be a series of drabbles written about the various pairings within Fullmetal Alchemist, some might be proper ones, some may be crack ships that I've picked up around the internet. The point is they won't all be the same couple. The basics of this challenge I've set myself is to write one hundred drabbles based on what my itunes randomly gives me when I start the writing. Each story will start with a short snippet of the lyrics, you can google them if you want.**

**I own none of the characters that'll be featured in here, nor any of the basic ideas that pertain to the series itself.**

**This one is Riza/Winry and set on the song Pretty Girl by Sugarcult. I know this is technically over the word count I set myself but I kind of heart the pairing. 3**

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><p>The teenager let out another broken sob. The house has been full of commotion since her visit, what had she expected? It could never be a good sign to see uniformed personnel on your doorstep. She breathes in once more, trying to get a grip, she hadn't said he was dead, just missing. He wasn't dead. Then why in fuckery did she have his pocket watch? She knew what he was like with that thing, she knew how protective of it, and the memories it held, he was. Of course somewhere in the back of her mind she knew this day was coming, she knew that there had always been the possibility of this happening. Her grandmother had never ceased to remind her of that fact.<p>

The female sat, her gaze never left the girl. She hated doing this. Of course she knew it wasn't true, he wasn't missing, hell he wasn't even off base, but if the girl thought otherwise…well it would keep her safe for the time being. If people assumed he was dead, assumed that he had simply never returned from one of his ridiculous attempts to find the secret behind the stone…well in the end less people would end up six foot under. None the less she hated doing this kind of thing, she hated Mustang for sending her on this, she hated the fact she was lying to a child. No she wasn't a child anymore, she was an adult, or near enough, she had the right to know. Of course she wouldn't go against orders, when did she ever go against orders.

With a gulp the girl settled somewhat, content to look the watch over in her hands. Oh it was going to be hell asking for it back. The little rat bastard couldn't have come down and explained it to her himself could he? Of course not, that would compromise everything. Mentally she cursed every man in that building, she heaved a quiet sigh, lifting the cup that had been set in front of her and draining the overly sweet tea.

Surely she could spot the signs, surely she could recognise the patterns. This wasn't the first time he'd 'disappeared'. Surely she wasn't…naive enough to still consider him a romantic candidate. Oh to be young again, to be young and stupid and to trust the boyish good looks of someone who comes waltzing in, gets accepted by what little family you have left, only to leave you once more….not that she was bitter, or resented particular life choices that had been made by certain people. But the message was the same. Men were not to be trusted, least not those who would sell the souls to find the secret of this and that. No man is worth sobbing for, that she had learnt a long, long time ago.

"It'll get…easier." She murmurs quietly, extending a hand, placing it gently a top the teen's.

Her hands are softer compared to the mechanics, the cause the girl to blink away the oncoming tears. She had never expected her to have such soft hands, not considering the things that she worked with, not considering the amount of work she did with her guns. She doesn't believe the hollow words, she knows the woman is doing her best but who has she lost? Who has she waited for day, after miserable day, for?

"You won't believe it at first, but it will."

"I don't believe it, you're quite right." The girl eventually mutters, catching the woman off guard. The soldier fights back a small laugh. A lot about the girl reminds her of herself, of her younger, happier, care free, scar free self. "Is he really gone? Really missing?" The girl asks, it catches the woman off guard, the hand that is holding her own has tightened, the girl's cobalt eyes staring at her, judging her.

"Yes he is," she responds smoothly. The grip doesn't let up, the teens eyes take in every smooth angle of the woman's face, the way her dark lashes frame her chocolate coloured eyes, the way her hair is constantly pulled back into that ridiculous clip. Part of her wants to reach back, to unclip her hair, to see if it makes her seem more human, to make her seem more believable. She stays seated.

"Where?" The teen asked, impatiently.

"Miss Rockbell, if we knew where, he wouldn't be lost would he?" She retorted, mentally cursing herself for doing so.

Their gazes met and she knew that the teen was seeing through everything. She knew the tears hadn't been for a lost lover, for a dead, missing lover, no they'd been over a missed opportunity. She supposed she'd get over him though, she was young and young hearts mended.

"He just doesn't want to come back, does he?" The teen asked suddenly, she blinked at the question. "No, that isn't right…he'll come back when he needs a repair, when he needs a replacement but until then I'm to waist my days assuming he's dead, assuming he's missing and holding out hope that one day he'll drag his short arse back home." The girl hissed, the grip on her hand tightening somewhat. Her other hand settled on the pair, hopefully in a comforting motion – that and she relied on her hands for her living just as much as the teen did.

"He, they, believe this will keep you safe."

"Bullshit!" The girl exclaimed, harshly tugging her hands free and standing. The scraping of the chair on the wooden floor was enough to cause the dog to perk in the corner. "You know what, I am sick, fucking sick, of running off after him, of patching him up when he's done something idiotic in search of that ridiculous stone!" She stood, moving around the table slowly, calmly. Picking up the chair she set it back in it's place, listening to the girl pace.

Resting against the table she watched the girl vent, nodding in the appropriate place and offering a somewhat biased opinion of men when she felt the teen needed to hear one. She didn't hate men, she hated the fact that the majority of them, or at least the ones that she knew, where reckless, idiotic, chauvinistic, pigs.

The girl drew in a deep breath, her line of sight settling on the woman once more. So he didn't want her, so he didn't need her? Fine. She wouldn't spend her life wasting away after him anymore; she wouldn't spend her time worrying about him anymore.

To say the woman was caught off guard was an understatement. She hadn't seen the teen cross the room to her, she'd been to engrossed in watching the people making their way past on the busy street. She hadn't noticed how startling the girl's eyes were until they were staring up at her, boring holes into her mind. She didn't know what had possessed the girl to do it, to roll forward onto the balls of her feet, to tug the front of the woman's uniform so that she bent somewhat and to kiss her with such crushing need it made the woman's breath catch. But that didn't mean she didn't like it.


	3. The past was much more fun

**Author's Note; Okay so this is going to be a series of drabbles written about the various pairings within Fullmetal Alchemist, some might be proper ones, some may be crack ships that I've picked up around the internet. The point is they won't all be the same couple. The basics of this challenge I've set myself is to write one hundred drabbles based on what my itunes randomly gives me when I start the writing. Each story will start with a short snippet of the lyrics, you can google them if you want.**

**I own none of the characters that'll be featured in here, nor any of the basic ideas that pertain to the series itself.**

**This one is Father/Hoho and set on the song It's All Been Done - the Barenaked Ladies.**

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><p>It was only natural to be curious, or so he told himself.<p>

It was natural, perfectly natural. There was nothing wrong with wanting to know how he would…progress through life.

It was normal, God damn it.

The golden haired man, the original golden haired man, paused. He frowned, what was he doing? This was ridiculous, sneaking around in the remains of the city. In the reminded of what he had done, something he should have fled, something he didn't want to be reminded of but something that would stay with him for an eternity.

What had he done?

What was he doing?

The older looking man, albeit by a decade at the most, stood straight.

He stepped back into the shadows once more, his breath catching, oh God what if he caught him. Oh lord, what was he doing?

The older man smirked, a look that bore a striking resemblance to the mouth he had held before, his bare back still toward the door. Oh he knew the younger man was out there, he knew the inner conflict between curiosity and intelligence. He knew the younger looking man would flee eventually, he had not expected him to stay, he was not a stupid human. Easily manipulated yes, but stupid? No. Perhaps there was some fun to be had before he left.

The younger man paused in the shadows before eventually inching forward once more. Lord this was stupid. His mind was telling him to run, telling him to go and drown his sorrows into the bottom of a barrel of alcohol, to drink until he could no longer see their faces, until he could no longer see their bodies…

"Hohenheim?"

The voice caught him off guard. He blinked, unsure as to whether to respond or to leave. Had he known he was there the whole time? Fuck. Fuckity. Fuck. A dark brow twitched at the idea once more. No. He wasn't there for that, merely to quell his curiosity.

"Van Hohenheim." The older looking man said once more, his patience wearing thin. Although to lose his patience would be to ruin the fun and that simply wouldn't do.

The younger man stepped forward, into the soft light that had seeped it's way through the shutters. His golden gaze taking in the man's back, the soft contours, the pale skin that matched his own down to the small scars. His back, something that he would never see in such detail, the muscles that stretched the skin taught, the way the soft light extenuated the curves, the angular lines of his shoulder blades.

His line of sight drifted to a patch of stonewall, albeit to give himself something else to concentrate on. He allowed a small noise of response to escape his mouth as he temporarily lost himself in his own thoughts. That would be his downfall; it would always be his downfall. His ability to shut himself off from the world, his inability to not notice how those moved, grew, lived, around him. And that was what the older man had been looking for, waiting for. The smirk returned to his handsomely mature features as he turned, padding to the other man.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts at the feeling of the pads of the man's finger tips grasping his jaw line, the younger man's golden eyes grew wider. When had he closed the distance? When had he touched him? He could feel the warmth radiating off the other's bare skin, he was close enough that he could have counted the other's long, dark, lashes…

"Wh-what?" He eventually stuttered out.

"Have you always been this inarticulate?" The older looking male retorted, the signature smirk slipping onto his features, his grip on the other man's chin tightening somewhat as he tilted the other's head up a millimetre. The scowl that had taken a hold of the other's features cause the smirk to soften into a playful smile somewhat, oh how childish the human was. His line of sight searching the human's face, his finger tips leaving the other's chin momentarily in order to push stray hair behind one of the human's ears. His eyes dragging slowly over the man's body, the smirk returning to his older features. "That is not how one acquires a family." He muttered, the smirk growing somewhat as he his hand dropped. Turning on his heel the man padded back into the room, closing the door behind him.

The younger breathed, the other's scent, his scent, lingering momentarily. The way he had looked at him, the way he had touched him. His voice…His words. Fuck, he needed a woman.


	4. A wolf in sheep's clothing

**Author's Note; Okay so this is going to be a series of drabbles written about the various pairings within Fullmetal Alchemist, some might be proper ones, some may be crack ships that I've picked up around the internet. The point is they won't all be the same couple. The basics of this challenge I've set myself is to write one hundred drabbles based on what my itunes randomly gives me when I start the writing. Each story will start with a short snippet of the lyrics, you can google them if you want.**

**I own none of the characters that'll be featured in here, nor any of the basic ideas that pertain to the series itself.**

**This one is original!Greed/Sheska and set on the song Runaway Baby by Bruno Mars. **

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><p>He was the kind of man her mother warned her against. The girl swallowed, her lips pursing gently, dark brows furrowing. The muscular arm that had cornered her held its position as the man, whom she would admit was tall, dark and handsome, leant nonchalantly against the wall.<p>

Her grip tightened on the book she clutched to her chest. Oh lord what had she gotten herself into. It was slowly growing dark in the large city, would anyone even notice that she'd slipped out of work to go to the dealer? Some people had problems with drugs, some with alcohol. She had an addiction to books and lord knew that it was going to kill her one of these days. And now, now she found herself backed against the wall of the alley, the man's body a mere inch or less away from her, his muscular arm blocking any route of escape. Oh she'd read about these situations, she'd practically swooned as a man took control of a woman – but then again she was in no mood to be taken control of by a stranger, and that was just it, he was a stranger. In the romance novels she frequented so often they were childhood friends or they knew one another through their spouses, never strangers…

The book, some old thing that she had been struggling to locate for months, was tugged out of her arm. The dark haired man's line of sight fell to the worn spine with a scoff, a flick of his wrist saw the book land in a near by muddy puddle. She frowned for the umpteenth time. "Tha-that was a first edition." She stuttered, biting down on her bottom lip, seemingly forgetting the position she was in.

The man grinned, she blinked. He was handsome; there was no denying that. None the less, she swallowed once more, a pale hand settling on his broad chest once more, attempting for the umpteenth time to push the man, who towered over her, away from her. The grin grew into a devilish smirk. His muscular body moved closer, albeit only a millimetre or so. She felt herself shrink into the brick wall once more. His free hand, the one bearing the peculiar tattoo, lifted, a slender pair of finger tips gently pulling off the girl's glasses. Another blink as her eyes attempted to refocus, oh lord what was he going to do.

The glasses dropped to the road with a quiet crunch, helped only as the man's well-polished boot found the spectacles. Twisting something the grin returned once more to his handsome features as his hand settled on the woman's chin, tilting her head up as to inspect her features.

She didn't know if it was fear or a sheer interest in as to where the situation would lead that kept her quiet but as the man smirked, closing the final miniscule gap between them, a small gasp escaped her parted lips. Another smirk as he bent, his devious mouth kissing hers with such force to ensure another gasp from the woman. She would be his tonight and part of her, he knew, would enjoy it. At least it would be a change from those books.


	5. Love is not a victory march

**Author's Note; Okay so this is going to be a series of drabbles written about the various pairings within Fullmetal Alchemist, some might be proper ones, some may be crack ships that I've picked up around the internet. The point is they won't all be the same couple. The basics of this challenge I've set myself is to write one hundred drabbles based on what my itunes randomly gives me when I start the writing. Each story will start with a short snippet of the lyrics, you can google them if you want.**

**I own none of the characters that'll be featured in here, nor any of the basic ideas that pertain to the series itself.**

**This one is Hohenheim/young!Pinako and set on the song Hallelujah by Rufus Wainwright. **

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><p>"That's not good for you."<p>

He shrugs in response, her dark brows furrow into a frown.

"It's not exactly normal either, is it?"

He doesn't respond this time, verbally or otherwise.

"She won't melt because you stopped watching her, y'know?"

Silence. She heaves a quiet sigh, dropping the tool that she'd been using onto the work surface. The man, who must have been at least a foot and a half taller than her, is leant against the wooden bench. His golden eyes are watching the open door, watching the small group of children playing in the field in front of the house.

"You need a…distraction."

A brow twitches but he refuses to give in, refuses to ask what exactly she had in mind.

She sighs again, dropping her chin into a palm. When did he get to be like this?

"You know there's a possibility she'll grow…out of you, don't you?"

Nothing.

She drums her fingertips on her cheek. She needs a drink, she needs to smoke, she needs more entertainment than talking to the statue-esque man.

"Pinako," he eventually says. Her head lifts somewhat, her dark eyes taking in the form she'd become so used to, the form that part of her would always love. "You should worry less." He eventually finishes, managing to tear his line of sight from the open door to the small woman, a small smile curling on to his broad features.

She shakes her head. As if it were that simple. She had been foolish and she knew that. She knew he would go to the ends of the earth for that…for that girl. But that was it, she was a girl, she was a child. She didn't know what love was, she didn't feel as if she was breaking simply because he had stayed away longer than he said, because he spent the majority of their conversations watching _her_. She had fallen for him; she had succumbed to her idiocy.

"The future will do what the future wants," he added in that tone that made her want to slap the growing smile off of his handsome features.

Her dark brows furrow once more, she's resting her forehead on her hand now, fingertips rubbing at the soft skin.

"I thought you'd be…happier about the fact that I'll be around more."

She doesn't know when her reflexes got that quick, she doesn't honestly care at that time. A hand snatches up the wrench, hurling it at the men, barely missing his temple. She's standing now, the stool wobbling behind her. "I should be grateful that you'll come here, waist my food, take up my bed but at the same time ensure that she gets home safe at night, ensure that no one bullies her, that no one touches her. I should be grateful for you the half arsed attempt to pay attention to me?" She hissed, the man stepping to the side, a dark brow lifting.

A hand lifted, finger pointing to the door. "Out." She snapped, she had work to do and in all honesty she was sick of the conversation. "Now." She added.

"…Pinako," he responded calmly.

Another tool was in her hand, although she had yet to hurl it at the man. His hands risen, he meant no threat, she knew that but the innate need to hit him was coming over her again.

"Pinako," came the soft voice again, her brows furrowed for the umpteenth time and the woman's stronghold, her thick skinned exterior, threatened to crack. She was being childish, she knew it, she was the girl who didn't want to share her toys. He didn't love her, at least not to the extent that she did he, but that didn't make it any easier to let some thirteen-year-old steal away his attention. She didn't notice his large hand wrap around the tool, she paid not attention as he gently prised it out of her small hand.

She didn't drag herself out of her thoughts until the side of a rough thumb wiped away the few tears that had slipped past her defences. Her dark eyes looked up at him, taking in his face, the handsome features she had traced so often. She watched as he leant down, she took in the last of his handsome features as he kissed her gently. The kiss itself was sweet, tender, as per usual, but unlike usual she knew it was the end, she knew it would be the last time he kissed her, the last time he held her.


	6. Promise me you'll always stay

**Author's Note; Okay so this is going to be a series of drabbles written about the various pairings within Fullmetal Alchemist, some might be proper ones, some may be crack ships that I've picked up around the internet. The point is they won't all be the same couple. The basics of this challenge I've set myself is to write one hundred drabbles based on what my itunes randomly gives me when I start the writing. Each story will start with a short snippet of the lyrics, you can google them if you want.**

**I own none of the characters that'll be featured in here, nor any of the basic ideas that pertain to the series itself.**

**This one is Riza/Jean and set on the song My Number by Tegan and Sara. **

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><p>It's the smell that hits you first, or at least that's how he's found. Then the buzz, the constant buzz that you can't quite place. Turns out it's the lights; those awful tubular things that do nothing more than make everything far too bright and induce headaches.<p>

He sits in his bed, there's little else he can do now a days. He's not ashamed how he's been injured; he'd do it again if he could. He's ashamed about the fact that it's a woman who led him tot his, he's ashamed at the fact that he knows his friend will obsess over ways to 'fix' him. But then a thought strikes him; perhaps he isn't broken, merely altered? He scoffs at the thought. Of course he's broken, what can he do now? What is he good for now? The military don't want a crippled dog; fuck he couldn't even man the phones. So what now? He's made arrangements to retire, his mother is forcing him back to the family shop, and away from the people and the city he came to love.

Roy's been to visit; it's the same old. They talk about the office, any news and women. In that order, every other day between the hours of two to four. He supposes he should be thankful for the company but he's waiting for someone else, he wants someone else. He doesn't know, Roy that is, that she's been visiting. Of course it wouldn't matter, it's hardly as if they were a couple. He may have been his boss and he may be a good friend but that didn't mean he could lay claim to any and every random women he thought might make a good first lady one day.

Of course he knows Riza doesn't know of Roy's visits, Roy wouldn't let her see this streak of humanity. The idea makes him scoff. He could have it all, he could have her, if only he had the nerve to truly open himself to her. But no, that would never happen, she would shoot him down without blinking. She had no interest in misogynistic men, in men who felt the need to brag about their recent fucks or how tight an arse his last lay had. No, she needed a real man, and in his mind that's where he stepped in…or wheeled in.

The sound of her shoes on the tiled floor is enough to cause both men to perk, albeit for very different reasons. The curtain is drawn quickly and the raven-haired man disappears from view, hoping it's just a nurse. She enters the room, stunning as usual. She's evidently been off duty today, the pale skirt brushes the top of her knees and she looks remarkably comfortable in the heels – not something he would have expected. She smiles and he's comfortable once again in the thought that this could work, then he remembers the man behind the curtain.

She smiles at him, that warming, welcoming, loving kind of smile she posses, and for once in life Jean Havoc puts himself before his friends, before his work mates. She settles beside him on the bed, setting the small pile of magazines on his lap, the carton of cigarettes on top of them – something she had scalded him for on countless occasions but had recently cut him some slack. Her line of sight settles on the curtain momentarily, chocolate eyes narrowing somewhat. Did they think she was stupid? She was a trained sniper, a trained guns man, she had been trained to spot differences in patterns and yet every now and again they tried to fool her? She sighed softly, he looks up at her, he's in the process of lighting a cigarette, she feels her eyes roll almost subconsciously.

"How long have you been here?" She asks, knowing the slim chance of the man behind the curtain answering.

"Half an hour." Comes the reply eventually.

She nods, standing. He's wishing she hadn't, he's praying she won't leave. He catches her hand and she smiles weakly. She bends, pressing a kiss to his forehead, the raven-haired man feels his heart break. "I'll leave you to it then," she murmurs, smoothing out her skirt, she'd return in an hour or so when the man had skulked off. Pat of him is breaking as much as his male counterpart, she had promised him his visit, she had promised not to leave him…

It takes three minutes for the man to open the curtain, to pull back the cheap material to look at the man. Their relationship won't be the same after that, he knows that but in all honesty he'd rather have her than him.


End file.
